be passing. As Mr. Lovegrove came out
again through the front office, the senior
clerk was putting on his hat and gloves
preparatory to going home.

"Oh, Mr. Lovegrove," said the clerk,
"you were asking me about the bill of
costs in Bowcher v. Bowcher!"

"Yes, I was. Has it been paid?"

"It has, sir. Their solicitors sent down
this afternoon, and the bill was paid. You
were not here. Mr. Frost took the notes,
saying that he was going into the city this
afternoon, and would bank them."

"Oh, very well, Mr. Burgess."

When the clerk had left, Mr. Lovegrove's
face changed.

"Another instance of Frost's thoughtlessness,"
he muttered. "He takes money
to the bank for the firm, and does not go
to the city until after banking hours. It
had much better have been sent in the
regular way. I suppose the truth is, he is
too busy growing rich on his own account.
I should never have guessed that Frost
had the ambition of being wealthy. I hope
he won't burn his fingers with speculations
in trying to grow rich in a hurry. But he
certainly is a very superior man! A most
superior man is Frost. All the same, when
your clever fellow does make a mistake, it
is apt to be a big one."

CHAPTER XII. TROUBLE.

MR. FROST left his office in a state of
pitiable disorder and anxiety of mind. It
has been said that Sidney Frost hated
failure; and still more the avowal of failure.
He had originally involved himself in a web
of dishonourable complications for the sake
of winning the woman who had inspired the
sole strong passion of his life. And it was
still his infatuated love for her that caused
the greater part of his distress. What
would Georgy do? What would Georgy
say? How would Georgy bear it if—the
worst should happen? These were the
chief questions with which he tormented
himself. And at the same time he well
knew, in his heart, that she would be cold
as ice and hard as granite to his sufferings.

His business in the city, and the rumours
he heard there, did not tend to reassure
him. He drove to his home jaded and
wretched. The headache which he had
falsely pleaded to Mr. Lovegrove had
become a reality. He threw himself on a
sofa in the drawing-room and shut his eyes.
But his nerves were in a state of too great
irritation to allow him to sleep. Nor did
the cessation from movement seem to bring
repose. He tried to stretch and relax his
limbs into a position of ease; but he ached
in every muscle, and was as weary as a man
who has gone through a day of hard bodily
labour. Presently his wife entered the
room. Care, and toil, and anxiety had set
no mark on her. Her peach-like cheeks
were smooth and fresh; her eyes bright
and clear; her hair was glossy, abundant,
and unmingled with a thread of grey. She
was dressed in a dinner costume whose
unobtrusive simplicity might have deceived
an uninstructed eye as to its costliness.
But, both in material and fashion, Mrs.
Frost's attire was of the most expensive.
Not a detail was imperfect: from the
elegant satin slipper that fitted her well-
formed foot to a nicety, to the fine old
cream-coloured lace round her bosom.
There was no jewel on her neck or in her
ears; not a chain, not a brooch, not a pin.
But on one round white arm she wore, set
in a broad band of gold, the famous opal,
whose mild, milky lustre, pierced here and
there by darts of fire, contrasted admirably
with the deep purple of her dress. Her
husband, lying on the sofa, looked at her
from beneath his half-closed eyelids, as she
stood for a moment uncertain whether he
were awake or asleep. She was very
beautiful. What dignity in the simple
steadiness of her attitude! How placid
the expanse of her broad white forehead!
How sweet and firm her closed red lips!
How mild, grave, and matronly the light
in her contemplative eyes! She seemed
to bring an air of peace into the room.
Even the slight perfume that hung about
her garments was soothing and delicious.
If she would but stand so, silent and adorable,
until her husband's eyes should close,
and sleep come down upon them like a
balm!

Thought is wonderfully rapid. Sidney
Frost had time to see all that we have
described, and to frame the above-recorded
wish, before his wife opened her handsome
mouth, and said, in the rich, low voice
habitual to her:

"Sidney, that man has been dunning
again for his bill."

Crash! The sweet vision was gone,
shattered into broken fragments like a
clear lake-picture disturbed by a stone
thrown into its waters. The veins in
Frost's forehead started and throbbed
distractingly. He could not suppress a groan
—more of mental than physical pain,
however—and he pressed his hot hands to his
still hotter brow.